Now That You're Gone
by Ivaleen
Summary: SPOILERS FOR PL6 – The young Jean Descole is devastated when he is separated from his little brother. He spends the next thirty years writing letters he will never send, as life goes on, and everything slowly begins to change.
1. Letter 1

**A/N**. It's been a while since I last worked on something, but here's a project that really matters to me. I've been trying to improve it for weeks, and of course, it's not over – I'll write more letters in the weeks to come. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

* * *

_1 – Some weeks after the kidnapping._

Theodore,

No, it doesn't seem right. I shouldn't be calling you "_Theodore_" anymore, after all. You're gone with this name. Erased. Now, there are two "Hershels"... not that you would ever learn the truth. You're too young.

I blame myself for what happened, sometimes. I know I shouldn't: the Azran are the only ones that brought all this misery upon us, after all. That accursed civilization! Why did Father have to find out about them? We should have spent our lives together, as a family. We were meant to be a family, forever. Now, there's nothing left of us. I spend my nights thinking about our loss, and my days working hard to take my revenge on them someday.

You see, I want to become an archeologist so I can discover the truth behind the Azran. Then, I will be able to seek the truth that Father was after, and maybe even meet him again.

I want to believe that he is still alive. I know our mother passed away recently – I don't think you will ever learn this terrible news. After all, you're just a child: it would be foolish to tell you about something so horrible. Every day, I pray that the Laytons are taking good care of you. I trust them: they couldn't harm you.

In the end, I don't believe you will ever realize what happened to you when we split up. Eventually, you'll just grow up and leave a normal life... that is everything I can hope for, _Theodore_.

For now, I will just go back to working on the Azran. I am still thinking about you, and I am sure we will get the chance to reunite.

Hershel


	2. Letter 2

_2 – One month after the first letter…_

Theodore,

I am unable to forgive myself for what I have done to you. I am torn apart between my duty, to protect my dear brother, and how much I miss you. It feels like someone is tearing my heart off my chest. I can feel the pain of losing you ever since: at day, while I'm gathering information about the civilization which did that to us, and at night, in my nightmares.

I should have expressed my feelings to you before. Had I known you would be leaving me one day, I would have taken better care of you. Being harassed by life is unbecoming of me, for I am not one who expresses his feelings easily. Also, I was born strong – like Father. But now I am forced to understand. I understand the pain of losing loved ones.

Isn't it ridiculous, though? I am the one who deliberately chose to let you go in my stead. Knowing this, I can't help but regret what is happening to us. I am sure, deep down, that I made the right decision. After all, you could not live by yourself – you've just turned five! I just wish I could make up for what I have done, but I can't just show up in London to check on you. That's so far away from our house that I doubt you will ever remember the tiny village you once lived in. Either way, I would just break my promise.

I'm stuck, Theodore. I'm all alone here. If it wasn't for the neighbors, coming at the house sometimes to see me, nobody would even know that I am still here. In truth, no one knows how I am feeling inside. They can talk to me as much as they want, that's all there is to it – they know **nothing**. I smile, but it's only a façade. I am merely a naive young boy hoping that writing down my thoughts about our loss will help me getting better. Will that ever happen? Only time will tell, I guess.

I pray for your safety. We shall meet again one day.

Your brother, Hershel


	3. Letter 3

_3 – Six months later..._

My dear brother,

I didn't feel like writing these last few months. It has been tough: I'm still working on the Azran. More importantly, I'm trying to build a plan for our future, so we can finally live together in peace. It may take some time, but I promise you that one day, I'll be coming to get you in London, and everything will finally be over.

When I'm done writing this letter, I will send a package to the Laytons. I want to make sure that you're doing well, and I have found something that belongs to you. I need to take a decision: should I let your _parents _know that I am the sender, or must I keep this a secret from you? If not, I am afraid to make you suffer. It's only been eight months, after all: your wound can't be healed yet.

I wish Mother were still here… she would have known what it is I must do. Sometimes, Theodore, being alone is a hard burden to bear. I'm turning ten next month, I'm still a child. Just like you. And children should never be left alone. I will do anything in my power to protect my own if I ever get the chance to have some.

On the other hand, I have decided to go back to school. I couldn't stand staying all day alone at the house, so I'm progressively reconnecting with my old life. I did some progress on my researches on the Azran: I now have a clearer grasp of who they are, and what they seek. However, grey areas are surrounding Father's whereabouts: I'm desperate to know where he is, but I can't get any answers. I'm starting to believe that he may be dead as well as Mother. I don't ever want to accept this truth, but what if Targent killed him when they realized he was of no use to them? Then my dreams of a reunited family would be shattered. Therefore, I must fight: he has to be alive. He couldn't abandon us. Soon, he will return, I am sure of it. He could even be already looking for you.

Sometimes, friends are asking me about you. I'm forced to lie to them – it is too hard to tell the truth when I'm not even fully aware of it myself. While answering, I'm trying to convince myself that you're happy, living away with one of our nonexistent aunts, so you don't suffer too much because of Mother's death. Sometimes, Father and I come to visit you, and you will be back soon. I'm sure you would understand why I'm doing this: people at school can't ever learn about the truth that is our family. That is also why I shall do everything I can to get you back, or my lies will eventually come back to haunt me. Meanwhile, please take care of yourself.

Hershel


	4. Letter 4

It's been two years since the kidnapping. The young Descole is trying to forget about what happened, and he's beginning to get better. However, he still reminisces about his old life with Theodore.

At this point, Descole is 12 years old while Layton is 7.

* * *

Theodore,

It's been two years already. Two years since we were separated, and I'm starting to convince myself that it will always be this way. Maybe it's for the best, don't you think? In fact, I have given up – or at least, I'm trying to.

Do you still remember the nightmares I had back when we were living on our own? One night, I couldn't help but scream, and I woke you up. You came rushing towards me, with that look on your face… I saw the sadness in your eyes, Theodore. I never had the courage to tell you that I will do anything I can to see you smile. I'm writing it now, almost three years later, even though I know this letter will never reach you. Either way, I failed you. I need to move on now, because I'm the only one still thinking about it.

Anyway. The nightmares. I had to tell you, even if I didn't want to admit it. I was the oldest, I had to protect you. I had to show you the way! I couldn't be weak in front of you; yet, this one time, I did. I will never forget what you said to me.

"Hersh, are you okay? Did you see our parents?" You asked with that concerned little voice of yours. I was shocked – I had never mentioned these dreams to you, but you were able to understand what was happening to me. Straight away, you understood. I nodded, and then I asked you to sit on my bed.

We talked a lot during that night. We talked about our lost parents, about us, about our lost future. You were so young, yet so sharp. Any other boy of four would not have grasped what was happening to us, but you were able to understand it, and you were being so calm. You almost never cried – I think you may have cried less than I have. Your strength will be your greatest asset in life.

That night, when I told you I wanted to go back to sleep, you put your hand on my arm.

"Can I stay with you, Hersh?"

I couldn't say no, so we shared my bed during the rest of the night. Feeling your warm body against mine calmed me down. This way, I knew you'd stay unharmed, and I could look after you. You fell asleep fast. I was afraid to dream again, but it didn't happen.

In truth, I still have these nightmares, but they happen less often. Ever since that night, whenever I wake up screaming and covered in a cold sweat, there's nobody here to ask me if I'm fine. So I just end up thinking about you, and I'm trying to imagine your body next to mine, in my bed. I'm glad these horrible dreams are finally beginning to disappear. I hope you're okay as well.

I must say that I'm slowly getting away from these painful memories – it is only logical to assume that the nightmares are calming down. More than one year ago, I went back to school. I'll be in year eight soon: everything is going to get difficult. I must work a lot if I want to follow in Father's footsteps. I mustn't give up now, and most of all, I must focus. I can't lose sight of my objectives. I'm the oldest one: responsibility fells on me. "What responsibility, Hersh?" would you ask me.

Revenge.

I can't move on – I can't let that down. I want to avenge you, avenge our family. There's no way I'm going to fail: I _will_ become an archaeologist, that's for sure. Then I will get what Targent seeks before them, and Father will be freed.

But for now, I need to forget about the rest. I hope that, one day, you will forgive me for trying to erase your existence.

Your brother, Hershel


	5. Letter 5

_Summary: Descole blames the Laytons for taking only one child with them to London. Takes place six months after letter 4._

* * *

This one letter is a short one, because there were some elements I wanted to write before moving forward, and I couldn't do it in the last chapter. Sorry if that's too short, but hope you like it anyways! I promise the sixth letter will be longer.

* * *

Theodore,

Sometimes, I can't help but loathe the Laytons. Why did they have to adopt only one child? Why couldn't they take us both? What would it have changed? I could have taken care of myself! They were so selfish. At the time, my sole concern was your future – I didn't even think about this other possibility. Now, my heart's filled with regrets. Not that it's an unusual feeling.

They never gave us any explanation. Why you? Why _me?_ Why _Hershel_ and not Theodore – why not the two brothers together? It didn't occur to them that we would suffer both the same pain. Do they even know what it's like to suffer? They have a perfect life, and now, they have the perfect child to match. I will never forget the day when I let go of your hand. They didn't bat an eyelid while tears were forming in my eyes as I watched you leave. They should have known better. Parents are supposed to care for their children, they are supposed to support them. Ours were always by our side when we needed them. The Laytons don't have the right to call themselves 'parents'!

In the end, they are the ones who tore us apart a second time. Loneliness gets the better of me, I know it – I'm starting to hate them as I hate Targent for what they did to us. I know the Laytons are not half as much responsible as them, but I cannot stop myself from letting this hate in. This is the only thing that keeps me going, along with my studies.

It seems my plan is working anyway. Everything's fading away – the joy, the smiles, the laughs, the times we'd spend together. The only things that matters is hate. I know it's not normal for a 12-year-old boy to be subjected to this atrocious feeling, but have our lives ever been normal?

One day I'll get a grip on myself, I promise you. And this one day I shall contact the Laytons again – to finally understand, and to keep an eye on you, as I know I should.

Hershel


	6. Letter 6

_Summary: Descole recalls his first encounter with the Sycamores, and starts a new life._  
_He's 13, Layton is 8._

* * *

Theo,

Time keeps on passing by. In a few months, it will be four years since we parted – can you believe it? _Would you_ believe it, if I only gave you the chance to remember it? I feel guilty about not writing anymore. The truth is I got tired of repeatedly recounting our life story, so I just gave up, you might say. However, now, everything's changed for me, and I need to "tell you".

Last month, a family visited the village. They wished to adopt one child, but their attempts all failed. Of course, they'd heard about me being left all alone. They couldn't believe I had been _almost_ living on my own for three years: it was the perfect opportunity for them!

Soon, they came to _our _home, and I immediately felt safe in their company. The Sycamores are so kind, they truly are gentle souls. They remind me of our real parents as well as yours. Even if I still blame the Laytons, one must assume they couldn't harm anyone. I'm sure you would feel the same as me if you saw them.

We talked a lot the day I met the Sycamores – they were impressed by my intelligence at such a young age.

I immediately told them about everything that had happened to us: how we were happy during the first nine years of my life, how much Father loved archaeology, how this passion of his caused his fall and the end of our peace. I couldn't help but cry when I mentioned every little detail of our parents' kidnapping. There were soft tears, but tears none the less. It's been so long since I last cried – I felt better when it was over. Lighter. Maybe even freer? I knew I would leave this fateful house and finally spend time with new people, people who would look after me no matter what. People who would _never_ disappear. It was time for me to let it all go and move on – I had been suffering enough here.

For two weeks now I've been living at the Sycamores' house. I still have to adjust to this new life, but I feel better. I can't remember the last time I've felt so well. I'm not far from London – I could come and visit you one day. Maybe I will, but let's not hasten anything.

By the way, I changed my mind. Moving out helped me see things differently: I now know that I will send a letter to the Laytons. A _real _letter. Then, time will tell whether I can arrange a meeting with you or not.

Whatever happens, I'm looking forward to the days to come. Even the air seems lighter; the sun, brighter. No more two-years breaks between my letters, I swear to you. I'll write down everything I can so I'll be prepared to show you all of this when we'll meet again.

Hershel


	7. Letter 7

_Summary: Descole would love to know if "Hershel" still remembers him, but he's afraid to ask the Laytons. It's been four years sharp since the kidnapping happened._

_The boys' ages are still the same._

* * *

Theodore,

There's something that's been bothering me in my letters. All the time, I speak about remembrance, but did you really forget me? My pride prevents me from asking the Laytons. I'm too scared to send them a letter – too scared of what they might say. Too scared to learn that you're suffering an immense pain. I can't begin to imagine the helplessness you'd be feeling if my fears were justified. I couldn't bear to know you all alone out there in London: I would leave everything behind to get you back. I'm sure the Sycamores would understand my decision.

And what if they were to admit that you don't remember anything about me? What would I do then? Either way, it would hurt so much! I cannot fathom why I'd be the only one to suffer, but I'm way too selfless: if forgetting me is the key to allow you to live a magnificent life, then so be it.

I'm pathetic, wouldn't you say? I keep on changing my mind. Three months ago, I told you I would write to your _parents _for sure, and now, I'm too scared to do so. I must take a decision, for better or for worse. I can't go on this way, or I'll be torturing myself again. This mustn't happen. The memories of our childhood together are still fading away, and though I miss you, I'm accepting our new lives. I couldn't stay in denial all my life. I don't want to be faced with the horrible pain I've been through four years ago anymore – not again!

"_Four years ago_"… These words are difficult to write, despite everything I'm saying. They show a reality I don't want to acknowledge. I doubt your mind would allow you to remember it, but we're in January: today, it's been exactly four years since our parents left us. Four years since they've been taken away from us – or us, taken away from them. I cannot say.

I believe now is the time for me to enjoy my new life with the Sycamores. We're still getting to know each other but talking with them seems decisive in easing my pain. They can see it in my eyes every time I mention your name – the eyes cannot lie. They have something in mind for me, something that should be able to help me for good. I wonder what it will be. This time, maybe, I'll be able to move on once and for all.

In the meantime, I'm going to go out and discover the village for the first time, with them. "_You mustn't stay locked inside your room, studying all day"_, Mrs. Sycamore said. I believe she may be right, after all.

Your brother, Hershel


	8. Letter 8

Theodore,

I'm officially starting a new life, and I can already feel that everything's changing. This time, I'm finally breaking free from the chains of my past – _our past_. I'm sorry to let you down this way, but there's nothing else I could do. I have reminisced enough, now I will keep on moving on.

In my last letter, I told you that the Sycamores had something in mind for me, and I couldn't imagine what it was. Well, I can't say I could have expected it – it was so sudden, so unpredictable.

One evening, Mrs. Sycamore showed up in my room, and suddenly told me, with a worried look written all over her face: "_I have something really important to ask you about, Hershel." _

Impatient and curious, I nodded silently.

A moment later, the words she said hit me with such violence, I don't think I could ever forget them.

"_We talked a lot about this with my husband, and we think it's high time for you to let everything behind you. This awful life, the pain, the loneliness, everything. All of this is related to your family, to your history with the people who disappeared all those years ago. Hershel, you need to take on a new name."_

When she was finally done talking, I was torn between two distinct feelings – anger, and relief.

Anger, because her words felt so cold, it seemed that she didn't have the least concern for what I had been through. Whatever could I reply to that? Did she even expect me to say something, other than "_yes, I will"_? I was at a loss for words.

I also felt relief, as she acknowledged that all the pain I was feeling was related to my accursed past. Just then, I saw it: her eyes were sparkling with something I hadn't seen before. It was hope, but also sadness. Deep down, she knew that this decision was mine alone to take and wasn't to be taken lightly. Although she tried to hide it, I noticed her hands shaking – she was afraid I could refuse, and maybe leave them behind.

I kept silent for a long time, staring at my bed in confusion. I couldn't find the courage to look up. It was then that, in a faint voice, she added something – something decisive.

"_We know this is nothing but a name, and it doesn't remove all you've been through, but maybe starting out a new life will finally allow you to be happy. I can let you choose this new name, if you want to."_

I suddenly realized everything. There was no other way out for me: I had to start over, no matter the consequences. With this proposition, the Sycamores showed yet again their true nature: they were such gentle, caring souls, and they would do everything in their power to make me smile.

I suddenly remembered a name I'd always loved, a Scottish name – a rare and unique one, which fitted perfectly my life.

There was so much I wanted to say to Mrs. Sycamore, but I could only reply one thing while firmly looking at her.

"_From now on, I will be called Desmond Sycamore."_

That night, I relived everything – I couldn't wipe off this sensation of déjà-vu I was feeling.

I remembered that moment clear as day: you were being taken away from me, while the Laytons were already calling you _'__Hershel' _as if this was your true name.

I remembered your silence – you were conceding, as if you wanted to keep the promise you'd made to me.

In the end, I believe that the possibility of taking on the name of your older brother didn't bother you at all, because somehow, it would make you believe I was still here with you. Yes… that may be the truth, after all.

There aren't two 'Hershels' anymore. There's just you, the _fake _Hershel, and me, the _new_ Hershel – Desmond Sycamore. It's almost been one month, now, and I must say that I'm proud of the choice I made that day.

Your brother, _Desmond_


	9. Letter 9

**A/N**. Don't mind me, I just have a lot of catching up to do, since I wasn't publishing on this website anymore. I hope you are still following this story, though!

* * *

Theodore,

I have tried to escape reality, to move away from the deluded fantasy I had been holding dear – that _you have to remember me. _The truth is, I had to take a decision, and now everything is finally over. I have finally crossed the line.

Two weeks ago, I found myself sending a letter to the Laytons. I was brave enough to ask them about everything I was keeping inside me.

The questions raced through my mind as soon as I was holding the pen in my hand. _"__Where should I begin?" _I asked myself. I was so excited to finally overcome my hesitations, after all these years, but at the same time, my whole body was trembling. _"__What if they refuse to answer me?" "What if they abandoned Theo?" "What if Targent found them as well?"_

_What if…_

It wouldn't stop. For the first time in nearly three months, I felt pain. This awful, outrageous pain. It was obvious, after all! I was about to get in touch with the people who have been raising you for four years. They were the ones to see you growing, changing, rebuilding your life. They were witnessing _everything _in my place, in our parents' place.

I didn't know how to address them. I couldn't help but feel an inch of hatred towards them. _"__Should I be honest, and tell them how much I've come to loathe them?" _I wondered for several minutes. In the end, I decided to be concise. As soon as I had written the first words onto the paper, the sentences flowed before my eyes. It was as though the pen was moving on its own, driven by a higher force.

This force was that of my doubts, my hopes, my fears, my hatred, even, and my sadness. Suddenly, I was releasing four years of suffering, projecting them onto somebody who _would _understand. That was the reason why I began writing the Laytons a letter in the first place. I _entrusted them _with my darkest thoughts, despite the distrust I felt. After all, maybe I didn't hate them that much. They saved your life, didn't they?

Maybe they have already told you about my letter. Either way, many questions followed one another.

_Does Theodore still remember me? Is he doing well?_

_Could you send a picture of him?_

_Does he enjoy his life in London? _

_Why did you take only one child? _

I had to fight against myself to stop asking one question after another. I would get my answers on time. I just couldn't resist the envy to listing each doubt that came flowing through my head at that moment.

There were just two questions I couldn't bring myself to ask your adoptive parents. _"__Can we meet in person?" "Will I be able to see my little brother again?"_

I was not ready – and surely, neither would you.

Now, there's only one thing left for me: I shall wait for their reply. In the meantime, I'll keep on adjusting to this new life. Having written this letter lightened my burden considerably. My life with _Leonora and Richard Sycamore _is even better than anything I had expected.

Desmond/Hershel


	10. Letter 10

Theodore,

Yesterday, a letter arrived at my new home. I couldn't take my mind off it: would the Laytons reply to me, or would they refuse to say anything? Deep down, I knew they wouldn't leave me in the dark. I couldn't believe they'd allow another boy to suffer the same fate as their adoptive child. Being left alone truly is a burden, of course they know that. They wouldn't allow me to suffer more than I already do – or did, for that matter.

When I finally got the chance to open it, I was relieved. I truly was – it was a relief so pure, so heartwarming. It was one big decision to make, and now, I've had my answers.

They were so kind to me, but I know they will never tell you about my letter. It has been tough. Yes, I broke the promise I'd made to myself, but now it's fine. _I mustn't cry anymore, whatever happens, I know he's happy and I must let it him be. _Yet, I cried. Some tears ran down my cheeks and fell on the paper. It started to erase some of the ink.

I will always remember this moment. The moment when I read that you didn't remember me. I felt like it was obvious to anybody but me. In truth, as always, I was expecting that kind of answer. What matters the most to me is that you are _finally _happy. I won't let anything nor anyone get in the way of that happiness; even if it means that I have to rule out the possibility of ever crossing your path again.

The last thing the Sycamores' had expected was to see a letter from _Hershel Bronev/Desmond Sycamore_. The first was a name they hadn't forgotten, and the second was one they couldn't know. They have always thought that I would never have the courage to contact them, nor any opportunity to do so. I didn't think I would have the courage, either.

They finally shed light on the _main _question I had been pondering for years: _why_ did it have to be _one _child? Their justification does not fully satisfy me, but it's enough for now. It seems they were faced with one major problem: money. They didn't have enough to raise two children, so they made a sacrifice and let me on my own, because I'm older. I still have some doubts about this, though – I am sure they wanted to adopt the _'smarter' _one. You were still very young; you had only been attending school for one year, whereas many people in the village knew that I was a very brilliant kid, so they must have heard about me.

In the end, money may be a little lacking at times, but I'm not convinced this is the only reason.

In any case, I am so glad to know that you're happy in your new little house in the center of London. The life here amazes you, they say. I would love to see that with my own eyes. But now, there's nothing more I can do… or maybe I must change _everything_? Maybe I must violate their demand, and travel to London myself?

They trust me. They know I wouldn't be able to do that, because I'm aware of the pain you would have to experience then. I cannot ever let that happen.

I can finally move on knowing you're feeling great, surrounded by people who love you and care about you. I only wish I could tell you how much I care about you, too.

Your brother, Desmond/Hershel


	11. Letter 11

Theo,

I didn't think my life could get any worse, now that, finally, I had – _almost – _managed to heal from the pain our separation caused me. I have taken to heart my own needs and my own promises: with the Laytons' reply, I understood I could be moving on from my old life, that it didn't mean I would forget you. After all, I could only do so much to feel better.

Yet, it appears I was wrong. Events got in the way, events I could not foresee. I was thrown in a chaos I'd hoped I would not have to go through once again. Once again, I remembered why everything was better when we were still living together with Father and Mother. No matter how loud I could scream, no matter how many tears rolled down my cheeks, no matter how desperate I was, nothing could_ever_ come back to the way it was before you were taken away from me.

All that was needed was one laugh. Then, there were two or three comments, every now and then. Afterwards, there started to be one, then two, five, ten fingers pointed at me. And everything became constant. It was as if it had always existed. I couldn't really tell whether it came from a nightmare, or if it was my life that had always been thus – a waking nightmare that would never end. The regularity of the _harassment _I was forced to suffer led to a throwback to my old life. The nightmares resurfaced, and with it all my_childish _fears. Whenever one child starts laughing at me, I feel like I'm trapped in a dark place, clinging to the edges. For one moment, I hope someone is going to save me. The next second, a child pushes me down the pit, and I can't stop falling while everyone around me just stands there and laughs incessantly.

As the pen slips on the paper, I can't help but call these people 'childs'… Are they really? Are we still children? I don't believe we are. They are all 15, so why are there some people out there who are still capable of behaving in this manner? Why are people so mean to each other? Why does _evil _rule in this world? Maybe that's the reason why Father had to leave us. **Evil triumphs whatever good people do**. Evil controls men's souls, and being pure and good does nothing. I could vow to fight against evil the rest of my life, but young children put me in a situation where I'm forced to question the value of my purpose.

Even so, it is hard to understand. Why did everything suddenly start to collapse? When I was still a young boy attending primary school, people were _good_. Back in year five, I even had some friends – to whom I had to lie about our family. They never saw through my lies, but they were still my friends. All of them still had the chance to enjoy their childhood, because their innocence was not yet stolen from them like it was from me. In spite of that, they could never have behaved in such a disgraceful way.

When I entered in year seven, it started to get difficult. I felt lonely as I was growing up without my friends, without my parents, and without you. It _fell apart _when the Sycamores came to adopt me. Though they granted me a nice life, some events kept on being difficult. I was forced to change schools at the beginning of October last year, and that was a huge mistake. At the same time, I had to skip year nine – that was the decision taken unanimously by my teachers back in my old school. A decision that started the nightmare in which I'm in right now.

In my previous letters, I never mentioned this harassment. I'd hoped it would be over soon, so I tried to erase it from my mind. I wanted everything to look beautiful, I wanted you to _truly _believe that I was able to overcome all this pain, if you ever had to hold these letters in your hands. For it to look real, I tried to convince myself that the only thing still standing in the way of my happiness was our separation. Sadly, it was not. I am way too much of an outsider to them: my classmates refuse to accept me. Though I am now in year eleven, nothing has changed. I am still odd, awkward, shady, creepy, useless – pathetic, even. These words keep on coming up every single time I walk in the room, every single time they are near me. And it spread to others: now, most of my classmates' friends that are in different classes joined them to laugh at me. What can I do about it, other than suffering in silence? I can't waste time by answering to them. I can't denounce them, either, because it would only get worse. I try to keep one of my purposes in mind: working to be as talented as Father was. Even if the pain never leaves me, I have to achieve this goal, whatever the cost may be. Our parents' sacrifices shall not be in vain.

I'm trying to hope that, next time I'll be writing to you, things will be better. I have so little to hope for, anyways.

Your brother,

Desmond Sycamore


	12. Letter 12

My dear Theodore,

A miracle happened, amidst all this chaos. For but a brief moment, it made me smile. It was a genuine smile, because I experienced an authentic feeling of joy. I almost forgot how heartwarming it was, to feel important and to be at the center of somebody's concern.

Your parents wrote me a new letter, one I did not ask for. I received it just yesterday, and there was a photograph attached to it. _My, how much you've grown. How grateful it is to see you smile that much._

I am starting to see that what I did was right. I was right to let you go with my name, right to let you live the happy life you deserve, far from all this agitation, far from _me_. You are Hershel Layton now. You are the one I should have been, but you are better than I ever could have become. I am finally convinced that the Laytons did nothing wrong. Yes, Lucille may have lied a little when she justified their choice – but can I truly blame her? It is not appropriate for her to admit to me that they wanted the smartest kid, in addition to their lack of money. I could never hate the Laytons the way I hate Targent for what they did to us. I guess they just wanted to ensure that their kid would get a happy life, and that no complications would arise. In the end, their sole purpose was just to make their _only child_ happy. I am done with all the hatred I've felt towards them.

I finally got this picture. I thought they simply ignored my request, but it appears that they were planning to contact me again. It was Lucille, your _mother_, who wrote this letter, as well as the previous one. She revealed that both Roland and her spend some time thinking about me, casually. They can't really get me out of their minds, because they feel a _shred_ of guilt about their decision. Maybe it is those words that caused such a change in me – can I really hate a mother who would have loved to act differently, if she could turn back time? Can I just _really_ hate a mother when I have lost mine – _ours_?

She mentioned you a lot. I will never forget what she wrote about you, about how much you make them happy.

"_Adopting Hershel gave me—us— a purpose in life, my dear. You cannot begin to imagine how much we have wanted to conceive a child of our own, how much we have tried but failed to do so. To people like us, having a baby means everything. Sometimes, life got so lonely that we didn't know what to do to change our tiresome routine. We didn't want to resign ourselves to adoption, because it would have meant that we acknowledge the fact that having a child would be impossible for us. Yet, we did. It was difficult, but we did. We accepted that, and that's how we came to find your little brother. _

_He is such a marvelous child. He is so gentle, so pure, so intelligent. We know he is bound to live a great life, full of success. We both are filled with joy just to have him by our side. We are also filled with gratitude towards you, because you are being so mature about this situation. We will always remember your determination the day we took Hershel in. We could see in your eyes that you were looking for his happiness before yours, before everything else. We pretended to believe you when you said you were being adopted by the Phibbs—this family from your hometown, I believe— but I understood right away that you were lying just to protect everyone from worrying too much. In your eyes, I saw two things that day: worry, and sadness. Two things your little brother couldn't know. Yet, in spite of all this, you didn't try to stop us. Filled with courage, you let us go, without knowing if you would ever hear about us again. For this, my dear Desmond—if only I knew your real name— you have our heartfelt thanks ."_

It's funny how things work out, sometimes. They wish to know my real name, though they keep using it throughout this letter. _Hershel_. You… and me. It's starting to fade away. I don't really identify myself as _you _(or me?) anymore. I am Desmond Sycamore, and you are Hershel Layton. You are Hershel, and you are happy. That's all that matters to me.

Lucille and Roland are two wonderful people. I am now aw are that I can keep in touch with them. This way, I'll always know how you are doing, and nothing could have pleased me more.

I hope you will never live what I live right now, because it's still happening, and I'm starting to believe it will never end. People will never stop being mean. _If Father were still here with me, he wouldn't have let them_ _behave this way_. I know Father would fight against all evil. I still think about him, sometimes. Is he still alive? If he is, is he free? I don't think he is, either way, because if he was free, he would come to see us. He would _claim _us, and he would never stop until he'd have reached his goal.

I have to go. There are still so many things I must do today – for school, for my parents, for the Laytons, for myself. I will not forget to write if anything new occurs.

Your brother,

Desmond Sycamore


	13. Letter 13

Theodore,

Now, it's been five years. Five years since our parents were taken, and for five years I've been living without you. I'm starting to ponder whether it's still appropriate to call you 'Theodore', or if I have always been mistaken. Maybe I should start calling you Hershel? Would that be fine, given that it would look like I'm writing to myself?

...How _ironic_. I can't believe I'm thinking that. Of course I'm writing to myself! I've been doing so for what seems ages, now. I have always been a coward—or a cautious young man—who refuses to let all those letters go their way. I hope, one day, I will act as courageously as I could today.

Something happened in class. Today was… different. I didn't feel like staying silent anymore. I wanted things to change, I wanted to show the others I was here. It didn't mean much, really.

Last year, I started attending a French course. I don't regret my choice: for a strange reason, I've always wanted to study this language. Though I am not really fluent in French, I have some notions, and I am capable of understanding basic sentences in a document. Today, I have discovered a really interesting character, one I had never heard about before. The teacher decided we should study a piece of French literature: it was a résumé from Victor Hugo's_Les Misérables_.

Many of my fellow students protested, because they were sure they would fail. I think I will never understand people like them – how can you be so mean to others, while being so _vulnerable_ yourselves? Failures scare them, but they act tough nonetheless. Trying something new is always rewarding, for you get to discover areas you've yet to learn, and by doing so, you become aware of your weaknesses, your limits, and your skills. I wanted to explain that to them, but the words wouldn't get out of my mouth. I wanted to say _so many things _to them, but none I could voice.

It suddenly changed—I still don't understand why—when our teacher asked us to tell him about what we had gathered about the main character of the novel.

"_Pouvez-vous me parler de Jean Valjean ?_*" she requested, in her native language. The whole class fell silent. The teacher had such a desperate look on her face, I couldn't be quiet any longer. I _longed _to talk about this fascinating character.

I did not forget her demand, because that's when something changed in me. I raised my hand quietly, and the teacher immediately allowed me to talk.

"_Desmond! What a pleasure to see you taking part in this class!_" She started, but was interrupted by some laughs and tauntings from the rest of class. She didn't mind, though, because she immediately added, "_I'm sure you have an interesting answer to offer us. Please, go ahead."_

When I started talking, there were still some laughs. I didn't mind it—well, I _tried_ to. It was harder than I thought, but I managed to explain what I wanted. I managed to say that Jean Valjean was a complex character, well-written and well thought out. I told them all his redemption was the main focus of the story, though his path towards it was long and hard. I focused on the fact that he _hated _society_so much _that it didn't seem likely that he would, one day, feel the need of being reintegrated into it.

Whenever I was talking about Jean Valjean, I was thinking about us—about me, about how much I blamed society, injustice and evil in men's hearts for what it did to us. I couldn't take my mind off it. The weight of many years of relentless loneliness and solitude and rejection and abandonment and—

I was interrupted by the feel of tears forming at the corner of my eye. I couldn't tell whether it was because of the look of malice on my classmates' faces, or because, for but a moment, it had eased the unbearable burden I was carrying.

By now, I still don't know the answer. The only thing I _know _is that I did right. I was courageous, and I was right.

Tomorrow will be different, surely. They will undoubtedly make fun of me, even more than before. Some day, it may become _unbearable _for good.

But for now, I did what I could, and I am proud of myself.

I know you would be, too.

Your courageous brother,

Desmond Sycamore


	14. Letter 14

Dear Theo,

I can't believe it's been almost two years and a half since I wrote you last. I have to admit that nothing interesting truly happens in my life anymore. You would have had enough of me rambling all the time, so I just chose to keep quiet and live—although _struggle_ would have been a better word—my life.

By now, you probably have entered secondary school. I wonder how your classmates are behaving? Well, I hope. You most certainly don't deserve to be treated the way I am. I should write another letter to the Laytons, ask how you are doing. I should also try meeting them some day; we have many things to discuss, after all.

As far as I am concerned, there actually _is _something new in my life. A _little _something that I will cherish all my life, as I cherish you.

It was a weird encounter, but a significant one nonetheless.

One week ago, as I was wandering in town, I came across a little kitty. The sun had already started to set, so I couldn't see very well, but here it was, meowing quietly. I bent down to stroke it and it immediately started to purr. _Purr, purr, purr, purr… _These sounds became actually quite relaxing, and I almost forgot myself.

A man's voice waked me up of my reverie. I almost let out a scream, but his voice sounded so gentle that I couldn't offend him with a mere cry. "_Do not be afraid_," he hissed, "_for I am the owner of your little friend here._"

I immediately took a step back. I could not have him believing I wanted to steal his cat, so I apologized straight away.

Much to my surprise, however, he started giving me a long speech about his condition, and, therefore, about the kitty's condition as well. At first, a feeling of unease overwhelmed me, and I was very suspicious of this strange man. Was he one of Targent's henchmen? Was he trying to gain my trust so that he could kidnap me and offer me to them? I couldn't rule out this possibility. That _bloody organization _stole our parents from us – then, why wouldn't them chase us, as soon as we were of age?

After one minute or so, though, I dropped my suspicions about him. He looked too… _fragile_ to be one of them. Maybe even _frightened—_there was this look in his eyes I couldn't ignore—although I didn't understand why.

The man had to leave town because of what he called "_complex issues_". He had been taking care of the kitten for a while, but he had to look for someone he could rely on so he could entrust his little friend to them.

"_You seem to be interested in him,_" he chuckled. I still hadn't stopped stroking the kitty, who was now standing on my lap. "_I believe he likes you, too. Would you like to take care of him?_"

_Would I like to take care of a cat? _I asked myself. _Would I be able to? _I didn't want to disappoint the man. He seemed to be counting on me way too much. However, I decided to not give it much thought: it would be nice to be having a cat. I was sure my parents—the Sycamores—wouldn't mind. So, naturally, I accepted his offer.

The man left five minutes or so, and came back only to give me a box in which I could carry the cat, along with some food and toys. I would have to manage to get the rest. When I left with his little companion, his eyes were not filled with fear anymore. He seemed _relieved_, but I still couldn't fathom why this situation had affected him that much.

In the end, I came out my parents' home to take a stroll, and I came back with a kitten. _This _was truly unexpected. As I approached my home, I started to fear they wouldn't want me to keep the animal, but they said nothing of the sort. They immediately understood, albeit a bit surprised. They said it would be better off his hands if the man couldn't deal with it anymore. "_It will be so happy with us. At least, it won't suffer abandon,_" they admitted.

_Abandon. _This word reminded me of my own life. From this moment, I have started to imagine the cat, all alone, wandering in the streets, looking for a home, looking for someone who would love him. I have started to think, "_what if I were in his stead?"…_ what would I have done indeed. His life could have been mine, though my life had been his. At last I am, and will be loved by amazing people. I am not alone anymore.

At night, though, I couldn't sleep.

_Why _did the man behave the way he did?

What did he have to hide?

What truly were the _complex issues_ he mentioned?

I couldn't take my mind off him. He was unusually frightened for someone who just had to give his cat away. Did he have problems with money? The Laytons seemed to have some, and that was one reason why they couldn't exactly live the life they would have wanted. Maybe the man gave his cat to me because he couldn't afford to buy him what he needed anymore. Then, it was a _fateful encounter_. What would he have done, were I not in his path?

I eventually fell asleep. There were just so many questions I didn't have an answer to. One day, I thought, I would have forgotten that man. After all, he was just a shadow in the night, right?

Your brother, Des


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